


Not Another Dick Pic Fic

by firstlightofeos



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Dating, Emotional Constipation, Erik is a Big Dorkface, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Sexual Frustration, Size Kink, Tumblr, X-Men First Class Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlightofeos/pseuds/firstlightofeos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is courtship/wooing, frustration, Raven, and—because no fic is complete without it—an anonymous dick pic on tumblr. </p><p>[A sort of inverse to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/768505">The Internet is For...</a>, based on a prompt on the XMFC kmeme.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Another Dick Pic Fic

**Author's Note:**

> So...apparently this is who I've become. I'm not sure if I'm amused or horrified. 
> 
> Written for [this XMFC kmeme prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21357797#t21357797), which requested Charles as a size queen with an anonymous porn tumblr famous for only accepting pictures of huge dicks and Erik as his super shy new boyfriend who also happens to be the owner of Charles's favorite anon dick. I apologize for the truly depressing lack of porn and excessive feelings in this fic, and hope you all can forgive me. 
> 
> With thanks (blame?) to **[unforgotten](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unforgotten)** , who's the one who showed me the prompt in the first place, and **[professor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/professor)** for reading it over and assuring me it didn't suck.

The first thing Charles notices about Erik is his (gorgeous, gorgeous) mutation, particularly the way he sparks in the corner of Charles's mind whenever he uses it (which is often). The second thing he notices is Erik's mind, lightning-quick and whip-sharp, cutting and humorous in nearly equal parts. The third thing is Erik's face—his edged features and bright eyes, the way he always bares his teeth, whether grinning or glaring. The fourth thing Charles notices is the way Erik notices him, eyes following Charles over his drink, mind fixed with an attention that is seductive in its singular focus. 

The fifth thing Charles notices, when he drags Erik out onto the dance floor and starts grinding against him, back pressed to Erik's front, arms looped around his neck, is his body: all lean, tight muscle, coiled strength just evident under the surface. (Charles has a thought of fighting Erik for dominance in bed, wrestling him down or being forced down himself, and shivers at the thought.)

The sixth thing Charles notices, when he shoves himself back against Erik, when Erik inhales and presses Charles close, closer, is his absolutely _massive_ cock. Charles is nearly tempted to turn around and fall to his knees right then and there, and it's only the knowledge that Erik isn't even a little into exhibitionism that keeps him from it. Either way, though, he's determined to have that cock in his mouth by the end of the night. 

All right, so he's a bit of a size queen. It's not like he's ever claimed otherwise. 

* * *

As it turns out, though, while Erik is perfectly happy to make out and dry-hump in a club, he's perplexingly old-fashioned about courtship (his word, not Charles's), and insists on taking him out on a proper date before falling into the sack with him. Normally, this is the point at which Charles would shrug and find someone else to go home with, but there's enough about Erik to keep him interested, so he agrees—grudgingly—and goes home to have a frustrated jerk-off. 

Thoughts of Erik's enormous cock have Charles clicking over to his anonymous porn tumblr. After a quick gander at the newest submissions (nothing terribly promising—mostly average-sized dick pics, with one or two on the larger side, and one that is bizarrely tiny), he scrolls back to his perennial favorite, the one that showed up anonymously a few months back, and which Charles can't help reposting every few weeks. 

It's just a still picture of a guy holding his erect, enormous cock—no gifs to be had, more's the pity—which juts out from his dark skinny (really, really skinny) jeans. There's the barest hint of skin showing through the open vee of the jeans, suggesting the guy prefers not to wear underwear (ballsy move, though with a cock of that size, Charles can't say he blames him). Sadly, his chest and abs are covered by a fairly loose-fitting Iron Maiden t-shirt, but the muscles evident in the guy's forearms are definitely prime wanking material. There's little else in the picture to identify the guy or his location, aside from the open computer behind him showing the Dublin Bus schedule, and Charles draws the line at IP address tracking, especially when the whole _point_ of the blog is anonymity. 

Charles has, at this point, jerked off to this picture so many times that his response to it is almost Pavlovian; it isn't long before he's coming into the tissues he's wadded around his dick, arching and letting his mouth fall open, thoughts of Dublin Dick Guy mingling with Erik. 

* * *

Erik, surprisingly enough, is even _more_ interesting when Charles is sober. He's an out and proud mutant, always has been, and while he's a bit more militant than Charles, it turns out that arguing over integration and the best way to help manifesting mutants is actually a massive turn-on for them both. By the time their check comes (Erik insists on paying, which Charles only agrees to after extracting a promise that the tab is his next time), their "discussion" is more foreplay than anything else, and the only thing stopping Charles from dragging Erik to the bathroom for a quickie is the fact that they're both expected back at work soon (and, no less importantly, he wants to have the time to properly appreciate that cock when he sees it for the first time).

Beyond that, Erik is Jewish, devoted to his mother, who lives in Dublin (Charles's entire body—particularly his cock—perks up at that tidbit), lived most of his life in various parts of Europe and speaks several languages (which explains the hodgepodge accent), and works as an architect for a prominent firm in the city, but is flirting with the idea of starting his own company (Charles has already started planning the renovations he'll make to the mansion). 

And—this is the strange part—he actually seems as interested in Charles as Charles is in him, which is...new. Unusual. And he hasn't run screaming at the mention (or the feeling) of Charles's telepathy, which has made Charles strangely comfortable and open in his company, almost as if he's trying to compensate for how open Erik has made himself. 

In fact, as Charles concludes after another date and a half, the only thing that could be improved upon is the fact that they _still_ haven't had sex. Charles's hand, and his favorite tumblr dick pic, are seeing more action than they have in ages (frankly, Charles doesn't think he's jerked off this frequently since he was a teenage virgin). It's not like Erik isn't interested—if the dirty tenor his thoughts take whenever Charles licks his lips, or bends over, or does anything even remotely sexual is to be believed, he is very, _very_ interested—but he just...hasn't been acting on it, seemingly content with mostly-chaste makeouts on the sofa. (Charles considered it a triumph when he got Erik's shirt off two nights ago, and that's just sad.)

But this is their third date, and Charles is determined to get into Erik's pants by the end of the night (with his full consent, of course). So he tries the only thing he hasn't yet attempted: he calls his sister. 

"So," she says, plopping on his bed half an hour later, as Charles tries on various outfits in front of her, "give me the dish on this guy." 

"He's _gorgeous_ , Raven, my God—tall, muscular, thin, fantastic eyes—"

"Yes, okay, I got the picture," she says, rolling her eyes. "Not that top, it makes you look like you're fifty. The jeans are okay—do you have anything tighter?"

"Tighter?" he splutters. "Raven, I can hardly breathe!" 

"You want to have sex tonight, yes?" Charles nods sullenly. "So listen to me," Raven commands. "Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Too many times to count," Charles grumbles, but he stomps off obediently to his closet, pulling out the jeans he bought back in his uni days, and then stomps into the bathroom to change. 

"Does he have a name, this gorgeous guy of yours?" Raven calls through the door. 

"Erik," Charles replies, jumping up and down in an effort to get the jeans to go over his thighs. "Erik Lehnsherr."

"German?"

"Originally. Jewish, though, so the family scattered in the late '30s, and he spent most of his childhood in Ireland." To distract himself from his struggles with his zipper, he adds, "Can speak German, though—it's oddly sexy." 

"Only you," she calls, and Charles doesn't need to see her to know she's rolling her eyes at him again. "Mutant?"

"And proud." There, that's the zipper, _and_ the button. Charles had better not get aroused before he's in a situation to at least get these open, or things will get _very_ uncomfortable very fast.

"Hung?"

"Like you wouldn't _believe_ ," Charles replies, coming out of the bathroom. "Strangely shy about it, though; he hasn't so much as let me touch his dick."

"Aaaaaand that's where we stop," Raven groans, holding up a hand. "Brain bleach, Charles, seriously."

"You're the one who asked!"

"Because I knew only a guy with a massive dick would get you like this. Oh, stop projecting your hurt feelings at me, you know it's true."

"He's...different," Charles admits, suddenly feeling vulnerable, on the edge of something. "It's not _just_ —"

"I know," she says, cutting him off kindly. "You don't have to tell me, I can see it well enough." She smiles at him, a strangely gentle expression in the context of their usual bickering-filled relationship, and Charles finds himself quirking his lips awkwardly in return. 

Then Raven claps her hands. "Okay, touching family moment over. We've still got to tart you up for your big date."

"It's hardly _tarting_ —"

"Look at your ass in those jeans. Go on. If that's not the most obscene thing you've seen this month—aside from that tumblr of yours, which, really, are you still obsessed with Dublin Dick Guy when you have Erik? That's just pathetic, Charles, honestly—then I'll eat Angel's acid."

"Please don't," Charles says distractedly, following Raven's instructions and checking himself out in the mirror. She's right about the jeans; if he saw himself in a club, he'd be ready to drag himself off to the nearest bathroom or deserted alleyway, and fuck discretion. "And excuse me if I've needed a distraction from my sexual frustration."

"Aww, baby, your life is so hard," Raven coos, pinching his cheeks before he can duck away. Then she steps back, all business, and pulls out a t-shirt Charles hasn't seen in years. "Now put this on and let me see how it looks."

"You're the worst sister and I hate you," he complains, going back to the bathroom. 

"Love you, too!" 

* * * 

Raven's teasing turns out to be more than worth it when Charles meets Erik at the door. 

"Charles," Erik says, his eyes fixed on the low v of Charles's shirt, the tight fit of his pants. "You look..." He drags his eyes back up to Charles's, blushing a bit. "I think I might have worn the wrong thing."

"Nonsense," Charles purrs, trailing a hand up Erik's bare forearm, playing with the hem of his polo sleeve. "You look just"—he flicks open one of the buttons of the polo—"about"—another—"perfect."

Charles reaches up and slides his hand around to cup the back of Erik's neck, and pulls him down into a sloppy kiss. Erik freezes for a moment, clearly still blindsided, but when Charles eases off a little to get him more comfortable, Erik surges forward, just enough to get them over the threshold so he can slam the door behind them, his powers flaring in that same corner of his mind and making Charles gasp with the brilliance of it. 

It's like Erik is an entirely different person; he growls as he drags Charles over to the sofa (or, more accurately, drags the sofa over to the two of them), bites at Charles's lips, clutches his waist in an iron grip. Charles barely has time to catch his breath before Erik is shoving him onto the sofa, immediately pouncing on him and kissing him within an inch of his life. Charles is acutely aware of Erik's cock, burning a line against his thigh, massive and hard as a rock. Charles is hard, too, though it's on the edge of being painful in his tight, tight jeans. 

He's barely had the thought before Erik mutters, "Here," and Charles's pants undo themselves. 

_Did I project that?_ Charles asks ruefully, not willing to pull his mouth from Erik's. 

_Just a bit,_ Erik replies, thoughts tinged with amusement. _I appreciate the thought, but you didn't have to make yourself uncomfortable for my sake._

Dissembling, Charles says, _You're far too coherent._ In an effort to remedy this, he slides his hands to the small of Erik's back, slipping them under his polo and teasing at the bare skin there. Erik shudders faintly before intensifying his kisses, his mouth leaving Charles's and moving to his cheeks, his ears, his neck, latching on whenever he finds a particularly sensitive spot and laving with his tongue. In retaliation, Charles scratches his nails lightly along Erik's sides, his back, making Erik gasp and grind his hips down against Charles. It's like an electric shock, and the way Erik groans in tandem with Charles, all the metal in the room creaking, makes it evident that he felt it, too. 

"Bed," Charles demands, shoving at Erik's shoulders. "We should—bed."

Erik lifts his head from where it's been sucking marks just below the intersection of Charles's collarbones. He looks wild, eyes bright and hair tousled (Charles doesn't remember doing that, but he must have), and far, far more gone than Charles has ever seen him. It sends a thrill all the way through him; they're going to have sex, it's going to be amazingly hot, and he can stop jerking off to pictures on the internet. 

Erik flinches, which is when Charles realizes his shields have been shot all to hell and Erik has heard all of that, not to mention seen the accompanying mental images. 

"Shit," Charles says, reeling his mind in and locking it down, reaching his hand out to Erik, who pulls back—and that hurts. "Erik, I didn't—that isn't—"

"Yeah," Erik says, standing up carefully. "Think I figured it out, Charles, thanks."

His voice is hard, brittle; Charles knows that tone, knows Erik's walking the knife's edge between shouting and crying. Neither option sounds particularly appealing, so Charles keeps his mouth shut, letting Erik collect his thoughts. 

"I thought—" Erik runs his hand through his hair, and sighs heavily. "Never mind what I thought, clearly I misread things."

"You didn't," Charles says quietly. "I do. Care, I mean. About more than the sex."

"But you've been—"

"Well, yes." Charles sits up a little. "A man has needs. You can't tell me you went home after our last date and didn't take a very, very cold shower."

"I didn't—" Erik gets out, then looks away; Charles gets a very distinct vision of Erik lying in his bed, trying to will his arousal away before finally giving up and having a fast, furtive wank. 

"Oh, darling," Charles says, sitting up and extending his hand. "I think we've both been a bit silly, don't you?" He swings his legs around so he's sitting properly on the couch, and pats the cushion next to him. "Come, let's talk."

Erik hesitates, his eyes darting to Charles's cock, still half-hard and sticking out of his undone jeans. Charles sighs, wills his erection to recede, and tucks himself back in, doing the jeans back up with a wince. 

"There," he says. "Now will you come here?" He raises his hands placatingly. "I won't try to jump you, I promise."

"But if I want you to—" Erik says, then hesitates. Charles raises an eyebrow.

" _Do_ you want me to?" he asks. 

Erik doesn't answer; Charles sighs. "Erik, please. Just...let's sit and talk a bit. No sex if you don't want, I promise."

Erik hesitates, looking like he's on the edge of saying something, and then he sighs. "Okay," he says. "I—okay." 

Charles exhales slowly as Erik sits down, giving himself a minute to breathe. 

"Okay," he says. "I'll go first. Erik, I like sex—I think I've been fairly obvious on that front—but you were very clearly holding back, so I wasn't going to push." 

Erik gives him a slightly incredulous look, his eyes sweeping up and down. 

"Yes, well, you can't blame a chap for trying," Charles snaps. "And I thought you might have been following that odd societal rule of waiting until the third date—"

Erik shifts, making it very clear that that was at least part of what was going on. 

"Right, yes," Charles says. "So I wanted to...augment my chances. As it was."

"Didn't hurt them," Erik says, again giving Charles an obvious once-over. Charles holds back his grin, keeping it to a gentle smile. 

"Glad to hear it," he says. Then, after a pause, he adds, "And really, the jerk-off material meant nothing, it was just...something nice to look at, that's all."

"That's all," Erik breathes.

He doesn't sound placated, though, so Charles asks, "You aren't really upset about it, though? There's nothing to be jealous of, I was thinking of you the whole time."

"That's...weird." 

And yes, okay, Charles hears it now, and it sounds kind of creepy, which is...not what he'd been going for at all. 

"But oddly touching, too," Erik adds, and maybe Charles hasn't completely blown it, because Erik's got a fond sort of look on his face, the one he wears when Charles rambles on about genetics or steals the last bite of Erik's dessert or does something ridiculous or...

The point is, Erik's expression is fond. 

"I like you," Charles says quietly, figuring he might as well go for broke. "I really like you, and I like dating you, and the point I have been—badly, awkwardly—trying to make is that, while I would love to have sex with you, and I think we'd have fabulous sex, I am also...okay with not having sex with you if that's what you want." He sighs, then says, "And if you want, I can even stop using my wanking material, though I refuse to stop masturbating, that's just unhealthy."

"Such sacrifice, Charles," Erik murmurs; but when Charles turns to glare at him, his eyes are dancing. He leans forward and kisses Charles. "Okay. You said something about a bed?"

"Oh, no, you don't," Charles says, pushing Erik back. "You don't really think I'm letting you get away without talking about your feelings when I just had to. You can't distract me with sex."

"I can't?" Erik says, low and hot, his mouth millimeters from Charles's ear. His hand starts sliding down Charles's side, flirts a bit with the hem of Charles's shirt before making a beeline for the button of his jeans. 

"No," Charles says, recovering himself and slapping Erik's hand away. He moves away until his back is pressed up against the arm rest of the sofa, and points. "You. Feelings talk. Now."

Erik sits back and starts fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Charles. "I don't—" 

"Let's start simple," Charles says briskly. "Do you like me?"

"Yes," Erik says, his tone suggesting he's offended by the question. "Of course I do."

"And you're not opposed to having sex with me."

"Very, very much not." Erik reaches out his hand, but pulls it back at Charles's glare. "Charles, come on—"

"Patience," Charles says. "Good things to those who wait, et cetera."

"I've been waiting for _weeks_ ," Erik protests. 

"Not my fault."

"Yes, yes, all my fault, because my mother taught me to be respectful and woo any gi—anyone I wanted to be with properly."

"You were about to say 'girl,' weren't you."

"I was not!" Erik snaps. "I was going to say 'guy.'"

"Telepath," Charles says dismissively. Erik rolls his eyes. "Your mother knows you're not straight, right?" Charles asks, squinting at him. 

"Oh, my God, yes," Erik bursts out. "But when she taught me about dating, it was all very...heterosexually focused. I was twelve, I didn't know." He gives Charles a look. "You know I'm bi, it's not that weird for the talk to have been about girls."

"Fine," Charles says, waving his hand. "But I want it noted for the record that I am neither a girl nor someone who needs to be—what was the word you used? Oh, yes—' _wooed_.'"

"But I _wanted_ to," Erik says earnestly. "That's the whole point. I liked you enough to want to do things...properly." He blushes and looks away. 

"Oh," Charles says, his eyes skittering off to the side, fingers tangling together. "I...oh."

"So...going on dates," Erik says. "And...waiting until the third date for sex. I didn't really want to wait—that first night, I wanted to jump in that cab with you, but then..."

"You liked me," Charles supplies. 

"Yes."

"And...today."

"You dressed up like—like that," Erik says, waving his hand vaguely in Charles's direction, "and jumped me, so what was I supposed to think?" 

"Exactly what you did think—I think," Charles says, feeling a bit confused. He would use his powers to tease out what Erik's getting at, but Erik's thoughts are such a jumble that he can barely make anything out. "Sorry, okay, what _did_ you think?"

"I don't know, it seemed like you were...trying to get me into bed."

"Which I was," Charles hedges. "As I've already said."

"But—only for sex?" Erik says, his voice hesitant, uncertain. "I mean, it felt like you only wanted me for sex, and not for...me."

"...Oh."

They're quiet for a long moment, and then Charles says, "I know I said it before, but it's not just for sex."

"I know," Erik says, quietly. "But then you were thinking those things, and about that—those pictures," he says, hurriedly correcting himself, for some reason Charles can't quite discern, "and I thought...I don't know."

"Do you want to try telling me?" Charles asks gently. He reaches out, carefully, and touches the pads of his fingers to the back of Erik's hand. Erik starts, but makes no other motion. His thoughts are still whirling, but there's a distinct theme running through them now. 

"It was something about all those pictures, wasn't it?" Charles prods, keeping his voice calm, even. He's suddenly put in mind of trying to calm a spooked animal, but quashes those thoughts as soon as they come, knowing Erik won't appreciate them in the least. 

There's a long silence, and then Erik nods. 

"Will you tell me what it was?"

Another pause. And then Erik's mind...focuses, latching onto something specific and pushing it forward, so Charles can't help but see it. 

He's whirled through a series of images: Erik with a woman, a stunning blonde woman ( _telepath_ , _diamond_ , Erik's mind whispers, and Charles has to bury the jealousy that surges up in him), and they're in a room somewhere ( _bedroom—mine_ , Erik thinks), and drinking, and then the woman ( _Emma_ ) pulls up something on the laptop, and it's...Charles's porn tumblr, which might explain a little bit, and then there's more drinking, followed by a sense of challenge ( _She dared me, we were drunk_ ), and then Erik's...oh, unzipping his fly, and suddenly the room looks _very_ familiar, and Charles realizes what it is he's seeing—which of course he blurts out in the worst possible way:

" _You're_ Dublin Dick Guy!" 

Erik's mind suddenly goes dim—a shield, Charles realizes, and then figures with a second burst of jealousy that this must be his friend Emma's doing—and he turns away, curling defensively. 

"No, okay, Erik, sorry, sorry," Charles babbles, his hand rising abortively before he lets it fall to his side. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised."

"I thought you knew," Erik says, turning slightly back in Charles's direction. "And that that was why you..." He waves his hand; across the room, a candlestick flops over. 

"I didn't," Charles assures him. "Not a clue."

"...Oh." The candlestick rights itself suddenly—so suddenly that its curves vanish. "Oh, sorry," Erik says, fumbling his powers to fix it.

"No harm done," Charles says calmly, putting his hand over Erik's. "I never liked that candlestick anyway."

Erik laughs shakily. "So..."

"I didn't know," Charles says again. "I really, really didn't."

"Okay."

"And if you really want, I can delete those posts," Charles offers, ignoring the pang his cock gives at the thought. "There's nothing I can do about the reblogs, unfortunately, but—"

"That's okay," Erik says. "It's...yeah, don't worry about it."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

"Okay," Charles says. He squeezes Erik's hand. "But let me know if that changes, because it's really not a problem."

"Thanks," Erik says, and he finally, _finally_ turns to look Charles full-on in the eye. His smile's a little wobbly, a little crooked, but it's still a smile, and right now, Charles will take what he can get. 

He smiles back and then says, because he never knows when to quit, "As long as I get to keep one personal copy, because now that I know that's my _boyfriend_ , I rather think—"

"Boyfriend?" Erik interrupts, and now it's Charles's turn to feel awkward. 

"Sorry, I was presuming—"

"No, no, it's good," Erik reassures him. He kisses Charles, and that's even more reassuring. "Boyfriend is good." 

"Okay," Charles says with a grin, which Erik echoes. 

Then, because he's an arse, he says: "You were saying?"

"About?" Charles asks, hoping playing it dumb will work. No such luck. 

"Keeping a personal copy of a picture of my dick?"

"Oh, I was just going to say that since I now know it's my boyfriend, I have a feeling my fantasies will get more..." Charles leans in and breathes, "vivid."

"Fantasies?" Erik asks, the catch in his breath belying his apparent nonchalance. 

"I could show you." Charles nips at Erik's ear, slides his hand down to tease at the zipper of Erik's jeans. "If you want."

"Oh," Erik says, pulling Charles forward and into his lap, rolling his hips deliberately so Charles can feel his (re)burgeoning erection, "I most _definitely_ do."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not Another Dick Pic Fic (The Nagging Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101233) by [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl)




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